


In the Land of Gods and Monsters

by psychoanalyze_this



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, rough language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 01:27:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/907271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychoanalyze_this/pseuds/psychoanalyze_this
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simply a Clint and Natasha origin story. Explores the progression of their relationship from enemies, to partners, to friends. Rated T for now, might change later. I will try my best to update regularly, or at least semi-regularly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ch 1

DISCLAIMER: ALL AVENGERS/MARVEL CHARACTERS AND IDEAS BELONG TO THEIR RESPECTIVE OWNERS.  
Summary: Simply Clint and Natasha's origin story. Title taken from Gods and Monsters by Lana del Rey.  
Warnings: Slightly rough language, nothing too bad.

The crowd was thick and bustling. People wove delicately through the streets with an indescribable grace, everybody carrying out their daily lives. Commuters walking briskly to the stations, businessmen chatting animatedly on their phones, teenagers talking loudly, drug dealers working the corners, food vendors serving up their product. All of it is so routine. So normal. Nothing ever changed within the city, the routine's always the same. Except for, of course, when it isn't. High above the living city, on the roof of a warehouse, a routine was being shattered.

It was an average job she was working, nothing special. Simply get in, and get out. She wouldn't have even taken the job if it weren't for the money because she preferred a challenge, but she also preferred to eat. So, the boring job it was. She turned from gazing at the sea of people below her and stepped from the ledge she was perched on, landing softly on the gravel-covered rooftop. She straightened herself and shook her head and shoulders a bit, letting her deep red curls bounce slightly. Her hair fell like a curtain to the small of her back; it was soft, light, beautifully radiant, and a very prominent distinguishing physical feature. She ran two pale hands through it, gathering it all together, and tied it up loose bun. The woman then padded silently over to a single aluminum door near the center of the building. Crouching in front of the door, she reached into a pocket and pulled a small lock picking kit. Carefully selecting two instruments, she began her work. She was interrupted only moments later when she heard the faint sound of gravel underfoot, barely a whisper above the traffic below. She whirled up, removing a pistol from her thigh-holder, and aimed it directly at where the sound had come from. About a hundred yards away from where she was, stood a man. He was about 5'10" and very well built, muscles rippling through his tense body. He was wearing a black tactical suit, much like herself, however he wore vest to prevent any arm restriction. That wardrobe choice was made very obvious as the woman stared down the wrong end of the man's tactical bow. She quickly fixed her gaze upward, locking her brilliant green eyes on his stormy grey ones.

"Natasha Romanoff." He said calmly, his eyes steadfastly boring into her, as if they could pierce the very depths of her soul. It wasn't a question, more of an accusation. She smirked, cocking her head to one side.

"Clint Barton, it sure did take you long enough." An expression of shock replaced Clint's calm demeanor. It was only for a second, but Natasha caught it.

"Oh yes, I know all about you. SHIELD Agent Clint 'Hawkeye' Barton. You've been following me for quite a while." Clint visibly tensed her words, his hand twitching slightly, eager to let his arrow fly. Natasha too flinched slightly, her free hand clenching at her side. Her slight movement drew the attention on Clint's eyes down, no longer focusing on her weapon. In that second she reacted. Clint looked down for a moment, only to hear the sound of a gun being fired from Natasha's weapon, and a sharp twang as the bullet ripped through his bow and taunt bowstring. Clint reacted immediately, dropping his ruined bow and grabbing a pistol. They were back in their previous standoff in seconds. Clint took a step forward, expecting Natasha to take a step back to get her against the door. Instead, she took a step forward, closing the gap between them. It was a dance. There was a certain easiness in the steps they took as they circled each other. Each move was cold and calculated, but each step was completely fluid and perfectly matched. This dance continued until they both were staring directly down the barrel of the other's gun, only an arm's length apart.

"Why are you here?" Natasha asked calmly.

"To kill you." Clint responded matter-of-factly.

"Oh, really?" She replied, quirking one perfectly manicured eyebrow. "And why is that?"

"Because you're a murder."

"Then, what does that make you?" Natasha lowered her weapon, keeping in loosely in her hand by her side. Clint's eyebrows knitted together, and he scowled at Natasha. "You're no better than I am, really." She continued.  
"I don't kill innocent people." Clint snapped at her.

"Neither do I. Not intentionally at least. I'm the best at what I do, I can afford to be picky about my clients. The target in there," she gestured to the lone door, "is a petty drug dealer who likes 15 year old girls a little more than her should. Now, would the world really be worse off is he just, I don't know, stopped breathing?" Clint lowered his weapon too. She did have a point, he thought, but he quickly shook it off.

"You are a loose cannon, a liability. You kill whoever you want, whenever you want, and that makes you dangerous." Clint raised his weapon again. His gun was suddenly thrown from his hands by a sharp roundhouse kick delivered by Natasha. The gun skittered away as Natasha's fist came hurtling towards Clint's head. Clint caught her arm and twisted it, opening her defensive stance, before punching her in the gut. She doubled over, but quickly recovered, rearing her head to connect sharply with Clint's chin. The force of the blow caused him to take a step back, and Natasha took the opportunity to kick his legs out from under him. As Clint fell to the ground, he pulled Natasha with him and flipped them so he was straddling her. He used his weight on her hips to immobilize her legs, and he pinned her arms above her head with one hand, using the other to retrieve a knife from his tactical. Natasha writhed beneath him, trying to escape. Clint placed the blade at her throat and she stilled. Clint put a slight pressure on the blade and it broke skin, Natasha didn't flinch. Blood pooled around the knife and began to fall in heavy drops down the side of her neck, the bright red sharply contrasting with her pale skin. Clint tore his eyes from her throat to lock eyes with her. Even now they were defiant and cold. But, there was something else there too. Something that made him question what he was about to do, and he couldn't quite place what it was. He looked into her eyes and discovered that this moment is one of those rare defining moments in your life. Where a little decision could drastically change everything. He could kill her, and it would be easy, just a little flick of the wrist and it would be done. But, Clint had seen Natasha. Seen how she works, seen what she does. And, he thinks she's incredible. He's borderline terrified of the woman. She's the best he's ever seen, she's better than he is. She has a skillset and a natural talent in her line of work that's unparalleled, and it would be a shame to waste something like that. Clint made his decision. He broke his routine. In a flash, Clint loosened his grip on Natasha and flipped her so that she was lying on her stomach, handcuffed her behind her back, and hauled her to her feet. Natasha struggled against the restraints.

"What the fuck are you doing?" She demanded angrily.

"You're coming back to base with me." Clint responded as he patted down Natasha, removing her plethora of weapons one by one.

"Why?" She spat angrily at him. He roughly unholstered her guns, and pulled blade after blade off her suit before disengaging and removing her Widow's Bite from her wrists. He gathered her things carefully and stood back up to face her again.

"Well, what can I say? I'm a sucker for a pretty face." Clint smirked at Natasha's obvious fury before turning her towards the stairs and shoving her roughly towards them. She caught herself with ease, but didn't move. She pulled her shoulders back and raised her head high. She was too stubborn to let herself be taken, she'd rather die than let herself be bested, so she stood firmly in place. Clint placed a gun against the small of her back, hoping to coax cooperation out of her, but she remained still.

"We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Natasha." Clint warned.

"Do you really have to be so painfully cliché?" Natasha bit back sarcastically. Behind her she heard him dig through a pocket, and a moment later he stepped in from of her with three large zip ties. He used one to bind her ankles, one to bind her thighs, and the other her put around her waist to bind her arms to her back.

"Comfortable?" Clint asked with a small smile that Natasha immediately returned.

"Quite, actually."

"Good." Clint said as he bent down, lifting Natasha up, and practically throwing her over his shoulder. She huffed slightly at the sudden change, but remained silent. He carried her with ease down off the roof to a car parked in an alley where he unceremoniously dumped her in the passenger seat. He slid smoothly into the driver's side, buckling himself, and then reaching into the glove compartment. He pulled out a single hypodermic needle with a basic tranquilizer, and removed the cap.

"Fuck you, Barton." Natasha spit from her seat when she saw what her was holding.

"Is that an invitation, Miss Romanoff?" He retorted with a cheeky smile.

"You wish, sweetheart." She sighed at her head was forced up by rough hands to reveal the veins in her neck. Clint pushed the needle in with a little more force than necessary and pushed down in the plunger. Natasha was out cold in minutes. However, that was a good deal longer than normal for the drug to take effect, but with a woman like that, he wasn't too surprised.

Natasha came to several hours later, and by then Clint had already driven both their asses back to base.

"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty!" Clint called as he reached over an unbuckled her seatbelt. He got out of the car himself, and walked around to the passenger side door, opened it and hauled Natasha out, placing her on her feet. He cut the ties on her ankles and thighs, and she promptly kneed him in the chest. She smirked when she heard the oddly satisfying crack of ribs when her knee made contact.

"Bitch!" He wheezed, struggling to regain his breath. SHIELD agents ran over to their car, which she noticed to be parked in an indoor hangar, but Clint held up a hand to halt their advance. He stood, straightened himself, and stepped behind her. His hand shot out, burying itself in her long hair, twisted and yanked hard, forcing her head back.  
"Walk." He commanded through gritted teeth, and shoved her angrily forward causing her to stumble. She caught herself and righted herself before walking determinedly towards where Clint had been gesturing. He followed closely behind her, both of them steadfastly ignoring the blatant stares of the other agents as they passed.  
Natasha Romanoff was famous around the SHIELD base. She had been on their radar for a few years and every agent sent to neutralize her came back in a body bag. That's why they sent Clint after her, he was their best, and it even took him over a year to catch her. Needless to say, she was not well liked. She was young, only 19, and already had a rap sheet longer than most senior agents. To a few, it was quite impressive. Clint was one of those few. He led her to the main control room. The minute they entered, the whole room fell silent; people literally dropped what they were doing to stare with open mouths at them. And in the center of the room stood Clint and Natasha, one bearing a mask of triumph, the other, one of complete indifference.

"CLINTON BARTON!" Boomed a voice, as the owner of the voice stormed out of an office. "In my office. Now." He ordered threateningly. "Bring the girl." He added as an afterthought as he turned back into the room he had come from.  
Clint gave Natasha a light shove, and she marched forward with her head high.


	2. Ch. 2

Chapter 2:

When they reached Fury's office, the door was shut tight behind them. Clint forced Natasha into a chair, then took a seat himself next to her.

"Untie her." Ordered Fury. Clint looked at him questioningly.

"Untie her. If she can make it through the heart of SHIELD and to the other side alive, hell, she deserves to be there. Until then, untie her." Clint followed the order dutifully, of course. Natasha scoffed, just another soldier, she thought. Once freed, she stretched her arms out and fluffed her hair slightly, obviously not caring about the two men in the room.

"Miss Romanoff, I presume." Fury, for the first rime, directly acknowledging her.

"You presume correctly, Director Fury." She responded casually.

"How do you know who I am?" Fury was genuinely confused.

"How do I not? You've been after me for 2 years, I've learned things. Let's just say that not all of your agents were a faithful as you would have liked." Natasha was downright grinning, and Fury was pissed.

"I need six armed agents with heavy restraints to escort Miss Romanoff to the holding cells. Now." Fury barked into the PA system. In less than a minute Natasha was being dragged out of Fury's office, and being roughly escorted to the cell block. This left Clint alone with Fury, and honestly, that thought scared him a little.

"WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING BRINGING HER HERE, BARTON?! HAVE YOU LOST YOUR FUCKING MIND!" Fury roared the second the door closed behind Natasha. Clint winced noticeably.

"I thought she would be a valuable asset." He responded meekly.

"You thought what, now?" Fury asked in disbelief.

"She's got a talent and a skillset that's unparalleled. She's more useful to us alive than dead." Clint was strictly professional, not letting any emotion or feeling show. He didn't show Fury that he pitied the girl. He didn't show Fury that all he wanted was to help her, to save her. He remained stoic.

"You disobeyed a direct order, Barton. Don't think that will go unpunished. But, you may have a point. Miss Romanoff, however deadly, may be an asset to us." Clint sighed in relief. "She will be interrogated and evaluated by one of our top psychologists, if she proves useful we'll keep her around, if not, you will end her. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal, Sir." Clint responded with a grin as he began to stand up.

"You will not have any contact with Miss Romanoff until we are done with her."

"Yes, Sir." He responded a little more somber. He walked stiffly out of the room, not looking back at Fury. Clint was beyond pissed about this. He brought Natasha here, he should be the one to talk to her. He spent the last year tailing her, he knew her. At least, he knew parts of her. He knew that she always slept on her left side. He knew that she had a habit of twirling her hair around her fingers. It wasn't a nervous or bored habit, just a regular habit. It was a quirk the always kept, even undercover. He knew how she took her coffee, large, dark roast, two cream, three sugar. She shouldn't be left to a bunch of bureaucratic assholes. He should be the one to deal with her. Whatever that entailed.

Meanwhile, Natasha wasn't entirely pleased with her situation either. She had been unceremoniously thrown into a cell by her guards with another woman. She was about her height with pin-straight blonde hair that hung down between her shoulder blades. Natasha looked over her carefully, noticing every detail. Her hair was mussed up a bit, jeans and shirt slightly ripped and frayed, but other than that, she was in mint condition. At least, compared to Natasha she was. Natasha's hair was wrecked, she had multiple cuts in her suit from the zip ties rubbing against her, she was bleeding from her lip, head, and neck, and the places where she had been cuffed and tied were rubbed raw. She stumbled into the cell and immediately put as much distance between herself and the woman. If there was one thing Natasha was certain of at this moment, it was that her cellmate was a SHIELD Agent.

"You can save the act Agent, you're not fooling anybody." Natasha said dryly from the bed.

"How did you know?" She asked taking a seat on the bed across from Natasha.

"You just told me." Natasha smirked triumphantly, and the other woman's face fell.

"So," Natasha continued "do I get the privilege of knowing who I'm talking to or…?"

"Agent Bobbi Morse." She extended her hand to Natasha who looked at it incredulously. Agent Morse let her hand fall back to her side after a while. Agent Morse walked over the bars of the cell and summoned a guard to them.

"Let her out and bring her to interrogation room A." She instructed strictly. The guard looked at her quizzically; his question was soon answered by a reluctant Bobbi Morse.

"There's no use in trying to play against someone who's better than you. It would be better just to take a more direct route with this one." She continued, jerking her head in Natasha's direction. The guard punched a few keys on the keypad next to the cell and requested that five guards come to the cell block to escort Natasha. She was then brought to a room not far from the cell block that contained only a table and two chairs set across from each other. One wall was one-way glass, and the rest concrete. The lighting was too bright and awkwardly artificial. Natasha was roughly shoved into the chair facing the glass wall and her hands were cuffed to a ring on the table. The guards promptly left, locking and barring the door behind them.

Natasha spent the next three weeks being interrogated by various SHIELD agents. They questioned her on everything from her life in the Red Room to the SHIELD agents she had killed. She gave up information, of course, but only enough to get them off her back. She kept most of her information with her, never revealing more than she had to, and lying through her teeth about a lot of it too. And, it was easy for her too. This was, by far, the tamest interrogation she had ever undergone. No mind games, no torture, no sleep deprivation or starvation was involved. It was just straight up ask and answer questioning. She kept all her walls up, she kept herself guarded, she revealed no secrets, no weaknesses, and nothing they didn't already know. But, somehow she still managed to convince them that she was honest with them. It really was an extraordinary talent. After they were all satisfied with what she had told them, she was called into Fury's office.

"Miss Romanoff, take a seat." Fury said casually when she entered the room. She did as she was told stoically and carefully crossed her legs. Everything Natasha did was carefully calculated and perfectly executed. She never did anything without thinking it through thoroughly and without weighing all the possible outcomes. She did everything for a reason, and she was always in control.

"You were brought to SHIELD under unusual circumstances. Nobody has ever gotten off out 'Most Wanted' list in the past, not alive at least. But, it seems there is an exception to every rule. An exception we're willing to make for you." He informed her, almost grudgingly. "You have remarkable talent and skill, we think you could be a very valuable asset to SHIELD. If you say 'yes' to our offer, you will be instated as an Agent of SHIELD on a probationary basis. If you decline our offer, you will be terminated." He finished, looking her directly in her emotionless eyes.

"So, join or die, right?" She asked with a sarcastic tone and an eyebrow quirked incredulously.

"Yes." Fury responded flatly. Natasha sighed heavily.

"Then, I choose join, I guess."

"Good. Find your way to briefing room C for your first assignment." Fury said as he gestured towards his door. Natasha stood up gracefully, righting her shirt, and walked to the door. She hesitated at the door, and turned back to face Fury.

"About my equipment…" She started.

"Your tactical had been repaired and upgraded by our weapons department. Before leaving, you will report to them to retrieve your suit and weapons that were removed from you by Agent Barton." Natasha nodded once and left.

Natasha wove through the mass of hallways and rooms at the SHIELD base, steadfastly ignoring the stares and murmurs that followed her, until she found the briefing rooms. She took a deep breath before turning the knob and pushing the door open. In the room were three agents, one in a suit, and the other two in standard issue tactical gear.

"Take a seat, Miss Romanoff." The man in the suit instructed. "We are waiting for one other agent to arrive to begin briefing. I'm Agent Coulson, I'll be your handler on this mission. This is Agent Hill and Greene, they will provide backup, if necessary." Natasha took a seat farthest from the rest of the agents as possible, and Coulson tossed a file at her across the table. "You can begin looking that over."

Natasha began reading intently to avoid making eye contact or conversation with anybody else in the room. A few minutes later, the last agent walked in. Natasha glanced up when he entered the room, and immediately pushed away from the table to stand up. Her body reflexively set itself in a defensive stance, her eyes practically glowed with rage.

"What the hell are you doing here, Barton?" Her voice was low and dangerous.

"Umm…briefing. Same as you." Clint responded casually, taking the seat opposite Natasha.

"You've got to be fucking me! I'm working with him?!" She practically yelled at Coulson, gesturing wildly in Clint's direction.

"It's not like I'm enjoying it too much either sweetheart, dealing with you is my punishment." Clint responded defensively.

"Damn right, Barton. You brought her here, you deal with her. She's your responsibility now whether you two like it or not. Deal with it." Coulson interrupted firmly. "Now, sit down, and both of you pay attention so we can move this along." Natasha sat back down, fixed her face into a blank, emotionless mask, and fixed herself back on the file in front of her. She could feel Clint staring at her the whole time.

"Miss Romanoff," Coulson began. "to get your false ID's in order, I'll need to know a few things."

"Like?" Natasha responded without looking up.

"How old are you?"

"19." There was a collective hocked intake of breath around the room, but nobody said anything.

"And, your natural hair color?"

"This." She said gesturing towards her deep red hair.

"Natural eye color?"

"Green." She responded, making eye contact with Coulson.

"Thank you. Now, how many SHIELD Agents have you met here?"

"Aside from my unnamed interrogator, the people in this room, Director Fury, and an Agent Morse." Clint visibly stiffened at the last agent's name.

"What the fuck were you thinking Coulson?" Clint shouted angrily as he stood up.

"Well, clearly I've missed something." Natasha said boredly from her chair, flipping casually through the file.

"When did you meet Agent Morse?" Barton demanded angrily. His eyes blazed with barely contained rage as he gripped the table hard enough to where his knuckles were white. Natasha didn't react, she kept he face blank and impassive.

"In the cell block when I first got here. I assume she was sent to get information, but you guys did a really piss-poor job of trying to pass her off as a criminal." She replied nonchalantly. Clint turned his fury back on Coulson.

"YOU PUT MY WIFE IN A CELL WITH HER?!" He roared, shoving the table back. The table connected sharply with Natasha's ribs, and she pushed back from her chair, so that she was standing now too.

"Wife…really? You married that pathetic excuse for a spy?" Natasha asked, smirking. Clint turned back to Natasha, quickly closed the gap between them, and roughly shoved her up against the wall. The two standby agents practically shot across the room to grab Clint. Both Hill and Greene were trying desperately to wretch Clint away from Natasha he closed a hand around her throat and pressed her tightly to the wall.

"What did you say?" Clint's voice was threateningly low. Natasha only smiled, and Clint cracked her against the wall. He let her go and she slunk down to the floor while the other two agents pinned Clint to the adjacent wall. He struggled for a minute, before calming down. They released him and they all went back to righting to room. Natasha had since stood up and was watching Clint intently while he was steadfastly ignoring her. Once the room was back to normal, he took his seat again, as did Natasha.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Barton?" Coulson chimed in. "That little outburst of yours was completely inappropriate! Agent Morse is just that, and agent. Her job is to do what we say, whether you like it or not. So, get over it."

"Yes, sir." Barton replied tersely.

"Good. Now, let's get back to the mission."


	3. Ch 3

They all returned to the files in front of them and began to look through them. Coulson continued the briefing, and it passed without further incident.

"There's a drug dealer operating in Dublin named Maclaren. He's been steadily moving product to South America, and has so far, avoided government detection. We want you two to kill him, and cripple their operation."

"Umm…That sound nice and all, except that he's not a drug dealer." Natasha interrupted. "Who's your contact on this?"

"What do you mean?" Coulson asked disbelievingly. "He's a drug dealer."

"No, he's not. I did a hit for Patrick Maclaren a few years ago, he's an arms dealer. Got a thing for redheads too." She grimaced slightly at her words. "Who gave you this information?" She asked, tossing the file on the table.

"A man by the name of Dan Ivey. He's working as out contact, and relatively new to the job." Coulson replied.

"Well, piece of advice to you, Danny's a weasel. And an incompetent moron." Natasha said dryly. It wasn't until this moment that either of the backup agents dared to speak.

"Do you know everything or something?" Greene asked disbelievingly.

"Basically, yeah. It's my job." She shot Greene a threateningly glare and he immediately turned his eyes downward.

"Anyways," she continued. "Most of the information in here is dodgy, at best. But, I know enough about Maclaren's operation to make this work. If you don't trust me enough, I wouldn't recommend running this mission at this given point in time. Also, you should find yourself a new contact." She reached across the table to grab a pen and scribbled something on the back of a sheet of paper. "Mark Bouchard." She said simple as she slid a piece of paper with his name and a phone number on it over to Coulson. "He owes me a favor, just tell him you're friends with Nora Roberts." She sat back in her chair and smirked at the room full of shocked faces.

"And you thought I was just a pretty face, Barton." She flashed a quick smile at him, and he managed to resist the strong urge to punch her in the mouth.

"And why should we believe you?" Clint spat from across the table.

"Agent Barton does have a point. "Coulson added. "You're not exactly SHIELD's favorite person right now."

"You should believe me because you're sending my sweet ass to Dublin one way or another, and frankly, I'm not too keen on getting shot anytime soon." She said brusquely, keeping eye contact with Clint the entire time. Their eyes remained locked for several long moments, each refusing to back down, until Coulson cleared his throat and threw them back into focus.

"I'll decide what you two will be doing after I check out the information Natasha has given us. Hill, Greene, follow me. You two will stay here." The two agents stood up and Coulson walked across the room and opened the door. "Try not to kill each other." He added as an afterthought before walking out followed by the two agents, the door shut loudly behind them.

The silence between them was awkward and weighed heavily in the room. The tension was sharp, both parties were stiff and both steadfastly refrained from eye contact. After a while Natasha broke the silence.

"So…you're married, then?" It was awkward.

"Yeah." He replied calmly. "How about you?"

"'How about me' what?" Natasha replied quickly.

"Anyone special in the life of The Black Widow?" Clint asked smirking, Natasha chuckled lightly, he head hanging down slightly before finally making eye contact with him again.

"What do you think?"

"I'm gonna have to go with 'no' on this one."

"Smart boy, Clinton."

"Why are you here?" He asked suddenly.

"Because you brought me here." She responded angrily.

"They gave you a choice, didn't they?" Clint really had no idea what happened to her in those three weeks, and Natasha was beginning to realize that.

"Yeah, join or die. It really wasn't much of a choice." Clint opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by Coulson, Hill, and Greene returning.

"I'm glad to see that you are both still breathing." Coulson said dryly. "You will both be on a plane to Dublin in one hour. Pack you things and be in the hangar in 50 minutes. A new file will be compiled while you two are gone and you will receive it before you leave. Clint, take Miss Romanoff to get her gear in order, then get settled yourself. See you then." He turned and briskly left the room.

Clint stiffened at his instructions, but stood up nonetheless.

"Follow me, Miss Romanoff." He said curtly. She exhibited the same stiffness, but followed all the same. They walked in stony silence through the building, eyes following the both of them. Apparently SHIELD agents have nothing better to do than stare obnoxiously at other people, Natasha thought dryly. When they finally found their way to the weapons room, Natasha was impressed, though she didn't show it. The room was large, and had a slightly blue tinge to the lighting of it. Rows upon rows of various weapons lined the room on shelves and on the walls. Everything you could ever want to kill a person was there. Natasha was in heaven.

Clint lead them to two SHIELD agents working over a table. On the table was everything Clint had removed from Natasha when he cuffed her. Her tactical was on a rack not too far away.

"Some of this weaponry is very advanced." One of the agents commented to Natasha, she replied with a bored stare.

"This," he continued, holding up her Widow's Bite "is very interesting. If I may ask, what does it do, exactly?"

"You may not ask." Natasha growled tersely. "And, I suggest you put it down before you get yourself killed." The agent immediately deposited the object back on the table. He took a step back, and Natasha smirked. Clint decided to step in at this point.

"Your suit, your weapons." He said, gesturing to both in turn. He then pointed to a small door about 10 feet away. "You can get dressed in there."

Natasha took her suit and went to change, grateful to be rid of the clothes SHIELD had dressed her in. She felt comforted by the familiar delicate pressure on her skin exerted by her suit. Once finished, she padded barefoot back to the table, and slipped on a pair of black socks, then her boots. She felt the eyes of all three agent in the room on her as she finished getting ready. She stretched a little before strapping all her weapons on, pulling her arms across her chest in turn, and shaking them loosely. She cracked all her knuckles and her neck before starting to attach her weapons. First she strapped her gun holster around her hips, and buckled the strap on her left thigh before she checked and placed a .45 handgun in the holster. She paused for a moment, and took the gun back out of it's place to examine it more carefully. Natasha disassembled then reassembled the gun before placing it back in it's spot. It took her less than a minute. She did the exact same thing for the holster on her right leg. She then picked up her set of small throwing blades and slipped then into their spot on the belt of her gun holster along with additional rounds of ammo. She looked at the four identical knives on the table, picked each one up individually to inspect them before tucking them in her boots, two in each. Next, she strapped her Widow's Bite to her wrists, left first, then right. Finally, she picked up the last remaining article on the table. It was a simple black belt with a red and black center. She gently wrapped around herself and buckled it around her waist.

She took the utmost care with her weapons. Each was carefully handled an inspected before being placed in their spots. It was a ritual for her, the calm before a storm. Clint and the other agents stood and watched, mesmerized by her actions. When she was finally done she stood up straight and shook her hair back.

"Ready?" Clint asked flatly. Natasha nodded once and followed him as he left the room. Clint broke their cold silence as they walked through the halls, Natasha was next to him now, only half a step behind.

"About civilian clothes, you have..." he was cut short by Natasha.

"I have an apartment in the city, if I'm permitted to leave." She explained. She could feel his eyes on her, but kept her blank gaze fixed ahead of her as they walked.

"You have an apartment in the city?"

"Yes, I find myself in New York more often than I would like.. There's a lot of people who seem to piss off the wrong people here." She shrugged slightly.

"I've been following you for a year, how come I didn't ever see you there?"

"One, I knew you were following me, so anything you saw I wanted you to see. Two, you have. Did it even ever occur to you that I would have a place of residence? Also, you probably wouldn't have guessed that I would lived there." She kept her bored monotone, showing no emotion or interest or anything. Clint was having a very difficult time reading her.

"Then, we'll go pick up your things now."

"We?" She asked incredulously.

"You don't think I'd leave you on our own in a big scary city like New York, now did you, sweetheart? It'd be downright irresponsible for me to leave a lady, such as yourself on her own." Clint replied sarcastically, smiling broadly as her blank face morphed into a glare. A second later, Clint wheezed as Natasha's elbow connected with his ribs, and he was pinned against the nearest wall before he recovered with Natasha's hand wrapped tight around his throat.

"I'm not your fucking sweetheart, you arrogant dick." Her voice was low and threatening, her emerald eyes burning with hatred.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE!" A shrill voice called down from the hall, Natasha turned to see the bouncing blonde that was Bobbi Morse, Clint's wife jogging towards them. When Natasha broke eye contact, Clint took the opportunity to push back against Natasha, reversing their positions.

"You should learn to keep your temper in check around here, Miss Romanoff." His voice shook with barely contained rage as her spoke to her. Natasha smiled, and promptly kneed him in the groin. She vaguely registered a shriek of protest from Bobbi. As Clint doubled over in pain, she sharply brought her elbow down between his shoulder blades, and he hit the floor. Bobbi rushed to Clint, brushing shoulders with Natasha as she passed. As Bobbie kneeled next her husband, Natasha stood over both of them, with her feet apart and arms crossed over her chest mixed with her triumphant smile, she looked positively frightening. Clint was beginning to understand where her reputation came from.

Natasha stepped gingerly over Clint's fallen body, still smiling, and continued walking down the corridor.

"Gonna lie there all day, Agent Barton? We've got things to do!" She called sweetly over her shoulder. Clint cringed, but stood up and moved to follow her. He was halted by Bobbi as he began walking.

"What the hell was that!" She demanded, angrily.

"Umm..." He rubbed his neck nervously. "A little disagreement between partners, no big deal."

"PARTNERS!" Bobbi screeched.

"Yeah, Fury assigned her to me."

"Why would he do that?! You've never had a successful partnership with anybody here!"

"Because I brought her here, so dealing with her is my punishment." Clint grumbled.

"Why did you bring her here in the first place? Seriously, Clint. What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that she's 19 years old, and just completely floored me. She's better than all of us, wasting her would just be fucking stupid. I've got to run, we're leaving in 45 minutes for a mission." He took a deep breath to calm himself, then wrapped his arms around his wife's waist and puller her into a hug. "I'll be back in a few days." He whispered, the kissed her before releasing her, and turning to follow Natasha.

"Gotta say, I'm not a huge fan of your lady." Clint jumped slightly as he rounded the corner, and almost ran into Natasha.

"I could really care less what you think." Clint snapped back. "Let's just get this over with."

"That's the spirit!" Natasha quipped sarcastically as Clint began to walk off. She followed him back to the hanger where they first arrived and to a black SUV, one of like 100. Clint unlocked the car and got into the passenger seat. Natasha was a little surprised, but got into the driver's seat without question. They drove in silence to her apartment. When they got there, Clint scoffed slightly.

"You would live here." He said bitterly.

"What can I say? I do love a good game." She tossed a sly smile at him over her shoulder as she climbed the front steps of the building.


End file.
